Your exposure is my exploitation

Between fear and joy (that's where we live), works on paper, 2024

Thanks to everyone who read and shared my studio blog last week. That post was my most viewed of the year.

There is clearly a systemic misunderstanding of what artists do, how we live, and what we need and want. There is also a devaluation of our time, skills, and methods. Continuous gatekeeping and obfuscation at every turn is the norm. The results of this continue to land on the artists with wounding effects.

These broken systems dine out on the culture we create, yet we are left holding the tab. Emotionally, physically, and financially, we suffer, while the systems that claim to support us grow and thrive. The very systems that pit us against each other while also breaking us down and filling us with doubt. 

Artists seem to be meant to live speculatively and unmoored. Our faith, resilience, and dedication towards creation are meant to sustain us wholly. This is untenable. 

I am not your creative economy. I am an artist. 

I am not your academy. I am an individual. 

I am not your content creator. I am a worker. 

Your exposure is my exploitation. 

My art is my life, not just one part of it. 

I deserve ground under my feet. 

I deserve to be seen and understood. 

I deserve to live well. 

We all do.

The ship is sailing

but I don't want to stop, work on paper, 2024

Through my love of genealogy, I have learned so much about my family’s place in history and the history of the world. It is meaningful to find the beginnings of one’s strength of character, creativity, moral code, or adventurous spirit embedded in the documents of those who have come before. It is moving to find your place in their words, deeds, and movements across the land and sea. 

Recently, I was looking at ship manifests from 1774. This particular one contained a list of passengers on board Ulysses bound for North Carolina from the Port of Greenock, Scotland. Listed are the passenger names, ages, former place of residence, business, and lastly, the reason for emigrating.

“High Rents and Oppression.”

Listed over and over and over again.

“High Rents and Oppression.”

We all know of the Highland Clearances, and most of us know what happened there and why - but for some reason, to read “High Rents and Oppression” repeatedly in this way hit me a bit harder and differently.

250 years later, the same plight comes crashing down around us, “High Rents and Oppression.”

Workers are struggling to pay their rent. Artists are struggling to pay for their studios.

Buildings that held promise are being left to rot - gap sites of misunderstandings and budget cuts. Yet, there is always money for something new and shining.

And then, the news this week from Creative Scotland regarding The Open Fund for Individuals - the fund that supports artists, writers, producers and other creative practitioners in Scotland would be closing due to the Scottish Government being unable to confirm the funds required.

“High Rents and Oppression.”

I am an artist. I tell stories and express feelings with colour, shape, and form. I watch the world and comment on my place in it. I get to be dramatic, daring, and critical. However, I worry some may think I am being too dramatic or that I am not from here and do not have the right to make such connections. I am from here, and I have returned. I stand rooted in my ancestor’s boots.

And I know that artists are packing up their studios, packing up their lives, and hanging up their brushes and other tools. Their offerings and forms of art are disappearing in front of our eyes.

Ideas float past a heartbroken painter, yet she will not look up and grab them. These ideas will float on and away. The jubilant words you need to hear won’t reach that writer as they push their dreams away. The play, the dance, the song, the film - they continue to fade. They are leaving us now...

A cultural diaspora in the making.

The ship is sailing.

There's no place like home

What can I tell you? What can I share? 

Well, I have had some glorious conversations, affirmations, and put in a lot of hard work this week and so I have arrived here a bit worn out.

Ties that bind
mixed media on canvas board
5x7"/13x18cm
©2021 Megan Chapman
£55 with free shipping in the UK

I learned recently that there is an old house inside me and in the deepest room, there is a kitchen with a long wooden table. I always have a seat reserved there. I can bring whatever I need to bring to this place and I will be received with unconditional care and space to just be. I can see the light coming in the windows and my shoulders drop and I can breathe deeply. I am greeted the same at the table if I am rage-filled, sad, lonely, scared, tired, or happy as a clam. My table is always there in the light in the middle of the house. I carry this place with me. I will forget sometimes, but I do know it is there. Home within.

This scene makes me cry every time...

In other news, yesterday I joined the Granton Hub as a volunteer member of the arts subgroup to contribute ideas and help run events in their arts programme. I attended my first meeting and I am very excited about the ethos and happenings at the hub. I invite you to like their social media pages and posts if you don't already.

FB:

https://www.facebook.com/madelviccommunity/

TW: https://twitter.com/granton_hub
IG: https://www.instagram.com/grantonhub/
YT: https://bit.ly/3cIKyVA
Web: https://grantonhub.org/

And in other, other news, after the computer failure (and thankful replacement) of last week, I realised I really need and want to create a proper archive of my past, current, and future work. I have found an online platform, that has all the features I need to help me manage my art, exhibitions, finances, and patrons in one place. This platform would help me immensely going forward. I am asking my patrons and supporters to invest in my past work and my future by supporting me in this goal over on my ko-fi page. 1 year of this service costs £165. I have 11 days left of my month-long free trial. I have already uploaded over 100 works to the site.

With your support, I could get my archive off the ground and work smarter rather than harder, and easily share even more of my work with you. I am already hard at work getting my files organised. It has been an overwhelming yet empowering experience. I have a long way to go yet, but I think this is the best tool for moving forward. If you have a spare £3 that would be super helpful. Visit: https://ko-fi.com/meganchapman to help me with this goal. Thanks!

Please show up for yourself. Find your home, your room, your space. Find your folders, create your own system. Ask for help, make it happen. Make your mark. There is room for you here too.

Storms of thought

The distance
Mixed media on canvas, 40x50x4cm
© 2019 Megan Chapman
£725

Awake early this grey Friday morning in July, I am waiting for the fruit and veg man to come by with his bounty. I have already been outside with my cup of tea to listen to the wind chimes and the bumblebee enjoy the poppies. My bare feet on the cracked and moss-covered concrete of the patio - I love being able to walk out the kitchen door and be on the ground. 

I drew a couple of things this week - nothing that great. 

I have mostly been returning to walking. Twenty-nine miles since Sunday. Walking helps me remember the point of it all. The shock of green, the big trees, the places my own two feet can take me, the simple dedication of putting one foot in front of the other. Space and time to think, dream, and hope. The world is a mess but the flowers are still here, the trees are ancient, the paths are old and well-traveled. The sky is either blue, grey, or fluffy with clouds, the water of the Firth of Forth is here too, and the winds are wild. 

I move through all of this. Fields of wildflowers, paths of ivy, the sunlight through the broad tree leaves. The wind whipping around my ears, the rain on my cheeks, the sun in my eyes, the shadows on the pavements, and glints of sun across the water wrap me up in their wilderness. 

Did you know that in Scotland:

81% of artists are self-employed
50% are full-time practitioners
73% work from home
83% earn less than £10k per year
80% believe they will earn the same or less next year
59% have never received public funding
88% do not get contracts consistently
61% receive less than the industry standard rates of pay
only 11% state regularly receiving the industry standard rate of pay
75% seldom or never receive a fee for exhibitions
53% of artists do not believe the sector is healthy and viable for their practice

These stats are from the Scottish Artists Union. If you are an eligible artist in Scotland please join your union so that we can work together to improve our working conditions.

This week I attended a meeting on Finance and Benefits for Artists and then later on the same day I attended a meeting on Universal Basic Income and the Future of Work. Both of these meetings were depressing as hell just like the stats above. 

And I don't know what to do about it. Except to encourage folks to join their union (whatever their field) and to learn more about and campaign for a universal basic income (a truly universal basic income for all and one that is not means-tested).

I am having a hard time talking and not crying these days. I find everything just a bit too much. It seems we are at each other's throats and everything is being politicised within an inch of its life. Within an inch of our lives. Human beings aren't looking too smart or empathetic and I am tired of it. And I don't know what to do about it except to sweep my own side of the street while still trying to maintain my empathy. Even I fail at this.

Our leaders aren't looking too smart either and I would like to shift the blame solely to them but we did (mostly) put them there and we have the ability to be decent and kind in our own lives and we are failing miserably at this. I know this is an art blog. 

And I have so much I would like to say about art but it gets caught in my throat and turns into tears rolling down my cheeks. For something held up in high regard and something that makes some people tremendous amounts of money and brings society joy and at times acts as a mirror for deeper understanding - as a practicing artist, I am at times left feeling bereft.

Being an artist has been the hardest thing I have ever done. It is something that I question every day. I feel guilt, shame, and fear at times because I live this life. I hate this. I hate that I feel this way and yet I also know that I have barely scratched the surface of the deep vein of art I have within me that I would like to create. Part of me still thinks I took the easy way out, and that art is a good way to hide from the world while looking busy. But, would I really still be doing it with this much dedication and for so long if it is all just a ruse to avoid the responsibilities of living in our society? I don't know for sure but I don't think so. I think this is more likely how society makes artists feel unless they are financially and materially successful (successful on their terms, not ours). 

I am not an Instagram influencer. I am not selling a happy tale of painting in a glowing room while looking like a model. I am not here to tell you how to sell better or more. I want to be here to show you my vision and expression of that and see if maybe you can find yourself in the work too or take the work and make it your own in your mind. 

In my mind being a painter has always been a solitary act of discovery and perhaps defiance. It wasn't supposed to be about money or making it big. I wanted it to be about a collection of souls sharing and talking about their work, giving each other honest and reliable feedback, and pushing each other to work fearlessly with integrity. Pushing boundaries for a better understanding of themselves and then perhaps society as a whole. 

I want to have exhibitions so that people can see the evolution of the work and the development of a series and how it pulls the viewer along from piece to piece like a song. It wasn't supposed to be about a piece here and there torn apart and standing all alone and out of context. I mean, of course, a good strong painting can do that, but can they sing their true song (can you even hear it) when it is rammed up against another work by another artist that is screaming another tune? 

Maybe it's all built on myth (I am not sure where this statement came from- probably the myth of being an artist, the myth of work, the myth of success, and societal validation).

I took a break from writing this (and took a long walk) as the tone of this post was becoming dour and I thought perhaps I should delete, correct course, or write something different. But I will let it stand. As you can see there are different storms of thought rolling in like clouds. I should also clarify this post is mostly fueled by this week's events and that after learning about the benefits system (what a shambles - I would not participate in that at all costs if I could possibly avoid it) and sorting out my US and UK taxes in the same week, it leaves me in a bit of a funk. It always does. Pitting the creating and selling of art against the government measuring stick of viability is a sure way to make one doubt everything. 

And that is why it is important to walk, important to keep our feet on the ground and to be in nature. Nature is our true leader. Nature would probably like us to be even less successful. Nature says listen to my leaves in the wind and stop being so bourgeois. 

I think it is also saying, honey, get your arse to the studio. 

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